


Alive and Well (illustrated)

by sarriathmg



Series: Bottom Jason Todd Week 2020 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Jason Todd, Bottom Jason Todd Week, Community: dckinkmeme, Daddy Kink, Damian Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, NSFW Art, Older Dick Grayson, Past Character Death, Post-Under the Red Hood, Resurrected Jason Todd, Rimming, Self-Worth Issues, Spanking, Top Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarriathmg/pseuds/sarriathmg
Summary: Jason remembers something that was once said to him.The only thing worse than death is the mortality of memories, to not be remembered, to be forgotten in one’s grave. Theultimatedeath.Now, fully drenched, as he looks down with his arms folded over the railing at the familiar-but-foreign shape of a man occasionally walking past the window. Purposefully left open for him every night since he started to come here, blue-eyed and dark-haired, strands greying at the ears but confident in his posture. Jason is finally understanding how those words aren’t really true.—Jason came back from the grave, but he came back twenty years too late.ForDC kink meme-Dickjay daddy kink- Older! Dick and bottom! Jason. Jason came back years later and Dick is around 40.Bottom Jason Todd Week Day 3 - Daddy kink
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Bottom Jason Todd Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872757
Comments: 4
Kudos: 171
Collections: Bottom Jason Todd Week 2020





	Alive and Well (illustrated)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeeZing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeZing/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【图文NSFW】活着并兴荣](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867015) by [sarriathmg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarriathmg/pseuds/sarriathmg)



> This is written for LeeZing's [prompt](https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/766.html?thread=59390#cmt59390) on the DC kink meme:
> 
> _Dickjay daddy kink- Older! Dick and bottom! Jason. Jason came back years later and Dick is around 40._
> 
> art is at the end.
> 
> Thanks to BunnyJess for betaeing for me!

It’s raining nonstop. The air is humid and filled with the chattering sounds of pouring water, chaotically hitting the asphalt of the streets and cement of the walls. Bl ü dhaven has been like this for the past few days, nothing but gloomy skies and overwhelming precipitation, from drenching thunderstorms down to light drizzles. He is anxious to make his move, to finally fly down from the roof of the ten-story building he has been perched on for the last thirty or so nights. Into the open french window of the fancy new residence across from him, the light and flowing curtains silently tempting him to go in.

Jason remembers something that was once said to him.  _ The only thing worse than death is the mortality of memories, to not be remembered, to be forgotten in one’s grave. The  _ ultimate  _ death _ .

Now, fully drenched, as he looks down with his arms folded over the railing at the familiar-but-foreign shape of a man occasionally walking past the window. Purposefully left open for him every night since he started to come here, blue-eyed and dark-haired, strands greying at the ears but confident in his posture. Jason is finally understanding how those words aren’t really true.

Being forgotten is not the one thing worse than death. There’s something worse still. It’s dying but not staying dead, coming back  _ too late _ and learning,  _ experiencing, _ that not only are you not remembered, but the world has moved on without you. Not caring who you were, or what you might become. Whatever spaces that were left for someone who hadn’t been alive for twenty years have all been taken by something, or someone else in the time you were gone.

That is the nightmare that he is finding himself in. Even the mere thought of it hurts, hurting more than the beating of the crowbar and the explosion that followed; more than the bruises from the last fight he had in Gotham, the broken nose, and the Batarang wound that the Bat-Brat had given him. His throat is still bandaged and throbbing, despite the incident having happened over a month ago The half-assed dressing he’d patched for himself was only meant to ensure he wouldn’t perish from the blood loss.

But sometimes Jason wonders whether it would have been better if he hadn't bothered at all. Maybe it’d be easier for everyone if Jason had died a second time. It’d be a mercy, one that allows him to return to where he belongs after he so selfishly crawled out of his grave. It would’ve hurt less than what he is feeling right now.

Seeing the rain only getting heavier by the minute, with no sign of stopping anytime soon, Jason finally takes out his grapple and shoots it across the street. He lets the hook take him over to the opposite building and he drops down a couple of stories, right onto the balcony where the open french windows are located.

The spaces surrounding the window are devoid of any movement besides the loose curtains waving with the wind. The room just beyond is large and luxurious, every extravagant detail showing how successful the owner of this abode has become over the years. The floor is a glossy dark wood, the TV an impressive sixty-inch mounted to the wall over an elegant black cabinet, the sofa is made of light-grey leather, looking inviting in its dimension and softness. Despite the neatness of the furniture, the place isn’t exactly what Jason would consider tidy with clothes thrown about on the sofa and on the floor carelessly.  _ Guess some things don’t change with time. _

Jason can hear clinks and shuffles coming from the kitchen, but besides that everything is calm. The owner of the suite gives no hints to his awareness of the arrival when Jason walks past the threshold, careful not to drip too much water onto the floor.

Crying right now won’t do him any good or make the pain feel less real, so Jason quietly laughs to himself instead - a dry, chalky sound that's more grating than anything he could produce when weeping. The whole thing is hilarious, a joke that would make the Joker proud. Bruce is dead, but somehow the bastard that killed him is still alive and kicking. Somehow, Jason feels that he doesn’t really exist and that he never did. 

Then, why is he here right now, at the home of a man whom he hasn’t talked to in twenty years? Not that it feels like twenty years to him. One moment Jason was in agony, spasming under each strike of the crowbar; the next he was waking up in a pit of green, not yet knowing how much time had passed since he last saw the world. An eternity compressed into a single moment.

So how does he know the man he wants to see still cares at all? The beaming face under a domino mask and atrocious popped collar that he’d looked up to in his teens, feels like yesterday when he pined after someone he could never have. It might as well be yesterday for him. But for Dick, it’s been years since that one inconvenient street rat that Bruce took in had perished. There’s no way that he would miss him. There’s no guarantee that he’d even  _ remember _ him.

At that, Jason’s resolve is set and he turns on his heel to leave. Only to be stopped by a familiar voice tinged with an unfamiliar low timbre, coming from his left.

“Glad you had finally decided to join me, Little Wing.”

Jason suddenly snaps his head back, eyes wide, and stares directly at the person he couldn’t keep his mind off for five minutes since he’d failed his mission in Arkham.

He has certainly changed. Jason doesn’t know who he’s staring at for the first five seconds, but the longer he looks at him, the more familiar that face becomes.

Dick stands in a confident posture with his chest out, drying a couple of lowball glasses with a piece of paper towel. Blue eyes peek out from under a sweep of sidebangs, the corners of which are marked with the slightest hint of crows feet. The lines are visible at the corners of his mouth as well, and his hair is greying at the ears. Yet, Dick Grayson still looks just as stunning as he always did during Jason’s first life. His body is still wonderfully in shape under the simple black sweater he’s wearing, and the aura that he gives off, though calmer and more resolute as someone his age possesses, still pertains that same kind of dangerous tumult just hidden beneath the serene surface.

Jason swallows and something inside his belly flutters as if he is still the star-struck little Robin pining after his predecessor. A new longing rises in him that he didn’t know he still possessed.

The forty-year-old walks into the living room through the doorway that leads to the kitchen. Jason wants to move, but his eyes and body are both fixed on his aged predecessor, at how he walks with grace and how the neat strands of his hair billow with the wind from the weather outside. His eyes fix on him with something akin to understanding, a look that the Dick Jason knew from his past would never give him. The picture is unreal.

“Welcome back, ” Dick says as he stops only feet away from him. “I saw you at Bruce’s grave. Would never have believed Damian if I didn’t see you with my own eyes.”

Jason opens his mouth but no sound comes out. His throat is dry, and when he does manage to speak, what he says instead is, “You’ve been researching me, haven’t you?”

“Ever since rumors of your return started to circulate,” the man says, calmly setting the glasses down onto the clear coffee table. “You don’t know what the process was like, Jay. Collecting photos and fingerprints that matched the profile of someone who’s supposed to have died years ago was eerie all on its own, but imagine ordering the exhumation of your gravesite and finding it empty? The scene was like a straight-up horror movie. If Bruce was there he’d never have accepted the possibility. I don’t think he’d accept it now even seeing you in person.”

“But you do?” Jason asks, trying to sneer but instead sounding a little desperate.

Dick stops and looks up. His face looks older and infinitely more mature than he remembers twenty years ago, but the light in his eyes is familiar. That feeling of being caught makes Jason silently tremble as if he’s still the child fearing punishment and scolding after having caused mischief.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick finally says, “you’re back at last, and that’s what matters.”

“Tell that to Bruce’s brat.” This time, Jason  _ does _ sneer. “He’d probably do anything to see me gone. Or be locked up.”

“Damian tries his best to live up to his father,” Dick smiles, a little bitterly, “he didn’t know you like I did. To him, you are just another stranger, a criminal to take down.”

“Aren’t I?” Jason says coldly, “I tried to kill anyone that came out of that fucking asylum. I tried to kill the Joker. The brat was doing the right thing, as you Bats call it, by trying to lock me up. You should be locking me up just like he tried to. I bet you’re thinking about doing it right now.”

The whole conversation sounds outlandish to him, down to the name he uses for Bruce’s son. Damian is no older than Jason despite how late he came into Bruce’s life. The boy is the true heir to Bruce’s legacy, while Jason is nothing but a disgraceful son, forgotten in death and fully deserving punishment for what he’s done to Gotham.

Dick stops to look at him, his blue eyes are piercing, and  _ oh god how handsome he has become and how much Jason wants to  _ kiss _ him… _

“Doesn’t matter what you think now, you were always a Bat, Jay,” he says, sounding so genuine that Jason can’t even tell if he’s lying. “Damian and Tim might have never known you like I did, but I know how much you aspire for justice, how much righteousness you possess. You did those things because you were following what you believed was right, even if they are misguided.”

“You didn’t know me either,” Jason immediately bites out, protecting himself with words of thorns and poison, “you never tried when I was alive. Don’t pretend that you did.”

But then Dick looks him in the eyes, and Jason’s resolve instantly shatters.

“I did, Little Wing, but I didn’t try nearly hard enough. I was too young to want to take that responsibility onto my shoulders and by the time I regretted it it was already too late. I’m sorry.”

_ Stop. Stop lying. This isn’t true, it can’t be.  _ Because if it is Jason doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s never entertained the possibility of Dick actually understanding.

Jason bites his lip so hard that it starts to bleed, and suddenly he is grateful for the rain that had soaked him from head to toe. With his tears mixed in it, it’ll be harder to tell that he’s crying. But Jason won’t take that chance, so he suddenly turns on his heel to walk away, only for a warm hand to wrap around his arm.

“Please stay, Jay,” Dick implores, that slightest bit of melancholy in his voice sounding out-of-place in the new-found timbre that he has gained over the years, “tell me what you’ve been through. Let me help you.”

Those damned words again.

_ No, you can’t help me. No one can. Anyone who even had a chance is dead.  _ He wants to say this, wants to bite back and hurt Dick with the cruelest words he knows, wants to make this as hard for him as it is for Jason. He wants him to see that it’s hard so he’ll just back down. There is no point in helping him, and the promise of such is driving him insane. When Jason turns back to scream at him, his words suddenly die on his lips and he sobs instead.

Uncontrollable tears are finally pouring down his cheeks, and Jason sobs like a child (the child that he still technically is). Before he knows it Dick’s arms are around him and he is crying into the man’s shoulder. It’s an awkward position considering the two inches he has on him in height, but Dick’s presence is big and grounding. Jason feels like he is back to being the little boy who got hurt and had no one to turn to, yearning for understanding and affection. The little boy that he never got the chance to grow out of.

“Come in, let me give you a towel,” Dick finally says after a while, “and take a look at that neck.”

He points at Jason’s bandages when he starts to try and pull himself together again. Jason scrunches up his nose and tries to make the tears stop, hurting his broken nose while he’s at it, his body shaking.

Dick waits until he nods, then tells him to take off his muddy boots and leave them on the balcony. He guides him to sit on the sofa, then excuses himself to get supplies. The smooth leather feels so good after hours of standing in the rain despite how uncomfortable Jason feels about accepting this kind of kindness. He let Dick take him in knowing he doesn’t deserve it. But the lonely kid in him longs for it, especially with Alfred and Bruce gone, and Dick being the last person from his past that still cares. Even if it's only the smallest amount; even if it’s just some pretense spurred on by a sense of responsibility.

Dick comes back with a towel as promised, as well as a medical kit and - surprising Jason - a bottle of bourbon. He hands the towel to Jason before sitting next to him, settling the rest of his things onto the coffee table. He starts to undo the bandage on Jason’s neck as the latter hastily wipes his face with the towel.

“Have you seen yourself?” His predecessor asks jokingly as he focuses on the task. “You look terrible right now.”

Jason is sure that he isn’t kidding. He is soaked from head to toe, and on his face and cheeks there are still signs of bruises and stitches. He’s sure that he won’t be winning any modeling contests anytime soon with the broken nose the young Wayne gave him. So he hums in agreement, suddenly feeling too tired to say anything, and Dick doesn’t push.

Dick puts down the old bandage and starts to work on the month-old wound. It’s healing okay and he no longer needs stitches, so Dick simply sprays the site with disinfectant before dressing it with clean bandages. This whole thing feels surreal, Jason sitting here without saying a word, letting Nightwing help with his wound. Like he hadn’t tried to kill every individual in Arkham only a month ago, like they’re on good terms. Like Dick is still twenty and he is fifteen with a huge crush, and his predecessor is only helping him out of obligation rather than anything else.

At some point, Dick has filled the two glasses with bourbon and offered one to Jason. He’s technically not old enough to drink but Jason never really cared, and he is more than eager to drown himself with alcohol. Dick is talking nonstop while doing it, enthusiastic in his demeanor just like Jason remembers him, but he knows that he’s doing it mainly for his sake. They share a quiet understanding that if Dick doesn’t keep talking then Jason won’t either. If Dick doesn’t try, then Jason will leave, and never come back.

“After Bruce died,” Dick says enthusiastically, filling him in on the events that have occurred during the years Jason was gone, “I was the first to take on the mantle with Damian as my Robin. Then Tim, and finally Damian when we thought he was mature enough for it. Between us, we were somehow able to keep Gotham running in Bruce’s absence. Call me a liar, but I think we did a pretty good job.”

Jason doesn’t say anything. How ironic it is that Dick was the one to mentor the young Wayne heir? They are practically polar opposites to each other.

“Tim then went on and did his own thing,” Dick continues, despite Jason’s silence, “and I went back to doing what I did best. Being Nightwing, leading the Titans, breaking a few hearts here and there-”

Jason snorts. He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out before he can help it.

Dick finishes and beams up at him. The fine lines on his face make his smiling visage look even more charming, even if his jokes are still as terrible as Jason remembers. This older, more mature version of his predecessor is somehow making his heart pound louder in his chest, and Jason is scared by it.

Before he knows it, Jason’s eyes are surveying his aged predecessor again. From Dick’s sculpted jawline to his lips, to the firm shape of his nose, to the greying eyebrow, and the pale and intelligent blue eyes staring out. That’s when Jason realized Dick is also checking him out. He’s not looking Jason in the eye, instead, he’s eyes are moving across his face, his lips, and the well-shaped muscles that he prides himself on. Jason blushes at the revelation.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Dick whispers. “I had a breakdown when I heard what had happened to you. I was in space then. Bruce was an emotional mess until Tim came along. We’ve never forgotten about you, you know. You were always an unspoken wound that never truly healed.”

Jason doesn’t answer - if he does, he might cry. He realizes that as much as he hates Bruce for not killing the clown, Jason also misses him. He misses his father, and every night spent knowing his fate is like being repeatedly beaten with the crowbar all over again. Maybe it’s a blessing that he and Dick never had a close relationship before his untimely death. The hurt is less severe because of it.

“I’m leaving,” Jason suddenly says, trying his best to keep his emotions inside, “I shouldn’t be here. It’s a mistake.”

He says this, but he doesn’t make a move to stand up. Suddenly it feels like his legs are made of lead, the soles of his feet are glued onto the floor, and his muscles won’t so much as twitch despite all the effort he’s putting in.

“Stay,” Dick implores. His face is so calm that it settles Jason, giving him a sense of grounding that he’s been so desperately striving to find ever since he came back to life.

“Or what?” Jason sneers bitterly, “you gonna cuff me and bring me to Arkham?”

Dick reaches his hand over to touch Jason’s. It’s warm and calloused, and it almost makes Jason feel like he meant something.

Suddenly, a wave of powerlessness washes over him, and Jason desperately leans in, staring at Dick’s face, the lines that have come with age, the greying locks, and the eyes. Blue, full of understanding. If only Bruce could look at him this way. If only he could look like this too, when he’d explained to him why he had failed to kill the clown.

“What do  _ you _ want, Little Wing?” Dick whispers, his voice is private, as if these words are meant just for him, “tell me how I can help you.”

Jason doesn’t answer. His eyes have gone glassy and his lips are trembling. He is struggling to hold himself together, but when he feels a couple of fingers brush past his forehead and sweep at his hair lovingly, Jason relents and gives in. He drunkenly cups Dick’s jaw and kisses him.

It’s an awkward kiss, with him sucking on Dick’s lips so fervently but clearly lacking in any experience, never trying anything beyond a few slightly painful nibbles. Dick lets him, but he doesn’t take the reins from him either. He’s only keeping his arms firmly locked on the boy’s torso, enough to prove his willingness to accept the offer.

The kiss gradually dampens with tears, and Jason has to stop to stifle his sobbing. Dick holds him as he pulls away, their foreheads touching, and the older of the two reaches out a thumb to wipe away tears from the boy’s face.

“Tell me,” Dick restates his offer, “let me know how I can help you.”

“Punish me,” Jason bites out through teeth and tears. “Do whatever you think is fit for my crimes. Hit me, knock me to the ground, or... or chain me up, whatever. Anything. Give me the pain, daddy, punish me for all the bad things I did in Gotham and hurt me until I’d think twice before I try anything like that again.”

“Are you sure, Jay? Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Jason doesn’t think he’s ever answered anyone so fast. “It’s everything I want. Please, hurt me as much as you see fit.” _Just don’t throw me in a cell and abandon me like he did._ _Let me know that I’m still worth something. A punching bag. Anything useful._

Dick looks at him solemnly and calmly says, “Alright. Remove all your ammunition.”

Jason hesitates a little but he does what he’s told. He removes the guns that he tends to keep on him nowadays from their holsters one by one and places them onto the table, right beside the bourbon bottle and lowball glasses.

Dick takes his glass and finishes the drink in one swig, then he places it down and grabs the collar at the back of Jason’s neck, gently pressing his body downwards.

Jason tenses up at first, but he soon adjusts to it and relaxes a little, letting Dick drag his limp body over his lap, forcing him down onto his trousered legs.

It’s amazing how easily he lets it happen. Jason has been more than difficult since he came back, a menace to criminals and Bats alike. Yet somehow he is following orders exactly like the good little soldier that Bruce had wanted him to be.

“If you want me to stop...”

“I won’t.”

“If you want me to stop,” Dick repeats, this time with more authority, “just tap on the table. Or, you know, you can always say  _ his  _ name to make me stop. It'd be a real mood killer.”

It’s meant to be a joke. Jason would have laughed at that, if the simple act of thinking of  _ him _ didn’t make him feel so awful.

Dick is undoing his belt now. He gets his buckle undone and undoes his fly as well, pulling both his pants and boxers down onto his thighs. The cool breeze from the evening rain skirts over Jason’s naked butt and thighs, causing goosebumps to spread.

A large, calloused hand softly touches his buttocks, fingers brushing over the skin. The gentleness Dick is showing him makes it hard for Jason not to cry.

“How old are you this year, Jay?” His predecessor asks.

Somehow, Jason manages to answer truthfully. “Nineteen, I… think.”

“Unreal,” Dick muses, running his hand over the sensitive flesh of Jason’s buttocks before removing it altogether. “Last I saw you, you weren’t even five years younger. But look at how young you still are, and look at me.”

Then, without warning, the hand slaps down.

The palm lands on Jason’s cheek, causing his body to jump involuntarily. He gasps like a small child being punished for his misdeeds, body tensing up and heaving. Dick’s hand stays there as he hushes him, using a soft voice to calm him.

Jason’s body finally stops spasming and he stays there, quietly and obediently, as the same hand raises up and lands again.

The second time Jason only flinches a little, and even that dissipates with subsequent blows.

Dick keeps hitting him, letting the sharp slapping sounds ring throughout the living room as he focuses only on the left butt cheek. His hits are calculated, planned, making sure that his palm always lands exactly where he wants it. The pain flares as he is hit more times, and Jason bears it like the good little soldier that Batman had wanted him to be, only sounding off an occasional yelp or grunt.

The hits hurt, but he can take it. With the pain there comes the relief, like his sins are being washed away by it. There's a bolt of pleasure, too, that is rather unexpected, and spreads across his body from where Dick's hand keeps making contact with his flesh.

Dick is doing exactly what Jason wants him to do, giving him what he needs, what he deserves, and giving it with powerful authority. Jason can’t see it, but he can feel his buttocks burning. The flesh is hurting and a tingling sensation is running up his spine. Eventually, new hits start to feel less painful than before and the soreness begins to numb. Jason doesn’t even care how much it’s going to bruise afterward or how hard it’s going to be for him to sit in the days following this. He wants this, wants it so badly that his entire world is revolving around it. His eyes are drenched with tears.

“Harder!” He whines, tears streaking down his face. “I’ve been so bad… I deserve it. I deserve everything you give me, daddy. Please hit me harder, I-”

His sentence is cut short with another harsh slap. Dick finally finishes with the left cheek and takes some time to gently massage the reddened flesh.

“I know,” Dick assures him, “I understand how much you need it.”

Jason’s hands clutch Dick’s trouser leg and he buries his face into his arm in his futile attempt to not cry. Broken sobs come out of his mouth as a hand finds its way into his sweaty hair, petting and comforting him.

“Cry if you want,” Dick says to him, his voice immensely calming, and Jason’s body almost instantly relaxes under it. “You deserve it. You are taking it so well.”

And Jason does.

For a long moment, neither of them speak. Jason just keeps crying into Dick’s clothes, soaking them with his tears and the rainwater he brought into the apartment alike. Dick is being so gentle, running his hand over his back soothingly, showing him more sympathy than he knows what to do with. Sympathy that Jason knows he doesn’t deserve.

Jason feels humiliated from crying with his ass still exposed, but for a moment it doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, he kind of enjoys it. The way Dick is - how he acts and what he looks like - is still eerily similar to how he was twenty years ago, but also so different. Time has washed away any rivalry that might have existed between them before his death, and time has changed that subtle dynamic into something else entirely.

Dick’s hand finds the burning flesh of his left buttocks and squeezes, making Jason yelp.

“Naughty boy,” Dick says almost playfully, “does this hurt you, or does it excites you?”

Jason wants to deny it. He wants to say this is just punishment, simple as that. Except that's kind of difficult to do when he's already starting to grow hard from it, and with him splayed across Dick’s lap there’s no way that his predecessor isn’t aware of Jason's erection.

“That’s correct,” as if reading his mind, Dick pipes up again, “I’m well aware of it, Little Wing.”

And with that, his palm comes down again, this time landing loudly on the right.

Jason shudders with both the pain and the pleasure. Dick’s use of the nickname from his Robin days prompting a shiver out of him.

“Mm...” Jason moans, his body writhing like a snake, “daddy, I-”

Dick shushes him and hits him again.

His next blows are just as calculated as his earlier ones, landing on the right butt cheek with precision - always next to each other, never overlapping. Loud smacks vibrate, one after another, and the brief contact of Dick’s palm with his ass is causing his skin to flush and his cock to throb. Jason whimpers, again and again, sobbing but taking it without complaint.

By the time Dick finishes Jason is already a weeping mess, unable to get a single word out. The last few spanks are fast and grouped together, dealt out with almost a hint of playfulness.

It’s not until perhaps a couple of minutes have passed, when Jason’s sobs have turned into short hiccups, when Dick finally decides to speak again.

“Now, how was it?” He asks, voice sounding so caring that it makes Jason want to start crying all over again. “Did you enjoy it? Hate it? Talk to me, Jay.”

Jason whimpers, then cries into Dick’s sweater, soaking the already wet fabric with more tears. Yet Dick does not complain, giving him so much patience that it makes Jason feel ashamed.

“Shut up,” he sobs, “shut up. Keep hitting me.”

Dick tsks from overhead, and his magnetic voice and the mischievous tone shoots a wave of tingling sensation down Jason’s spine.

“Is that any way to talk to your daddy?” Dick says, his voice deep, and Jason shivers.

“I...I'm sorry,” he promptly apologizes, “please. Please punish me.” He relents so fast that it makes his head feel dizzy and his voice hoarse. But Jason is desperate. He fears that if he doesn't Dick will stop.

Dick stops either way. His hand is resting on Jason’s abused buttocks and gently running over the skin, rubbing a little along the way, the numbed soreness flaring up with the touch.

“Keep hitting me, daddy, please,” Jason pleads with him.

“That’s enough for one night,” Dick says, “but why don’t you be good and tell me why you liked it?”

Jason sobs. “Because I deserved it.”  _ It’s what Bruce would’ve done if he’s still here. _

Dicks’ hand leaves and the emptiness that follows it makes him feel tortured.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Dick says patiently. “I don’t think it’s punishment that you seek. It’s actually forgiveness.”

At that, fingertips find the skin on his ass again and this time a couple of them run along the crack between his cheeks until they reach deep enough to make Jason gasp. Hands pull apart his buttocks to reveal the hole hidden in between. Jason’s breath catches and his body goes rigid, but he doesn’t move or try to get away.

“You want to belong somewhere, Jason,” Dick says absentmindedly, and Jason can feel his eyes traveling to his tight entrance. His body is tingling with both the shame and newfound excitement. “But you’re confused. You’ve come back from the grave to face a grim reality. You don’t know what you really want and the only way you can think to deal with it is to punish yourself.”

Dick’s thumb is gently massaging his hole now. Jason moans involuntarily, fingers clutching tightly to Dick’s trousers.

“Should I stop?” Dick suddenly says, “If you disagree with anything I say, you can say it, Jay. I promise, we’ll just sit and talk this out.”

“...No,” Jason answers with tense shoulders.

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I don’t want you to stop.”

Dick bends down and places a kiss onto Jason’s abused buttocks.

His mouth doesn’t leave afterward. Instead, his lips linger and travel downwards. Dick keeps his hands on the cheeks to hold them apart, revealing the puckered hole between them.

“Can I confess something to you, Jason?” Dick asks, his breath ghosting over his buttocks and his entrance.

Jason tightens his hold on Dick’s pants and nods.

“I’ve always wondered what you’d look like if you… had a chance to grow up,” Dick gently says. “I wondered about it so, so many times, but I never believed I could see it happen. And here you are, grown into such a beautiful young man. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see you with my own eyes. You know, it’s nice to see you like this, Little Wing. Even if it’s twenty years late.”

Jason whines and shivers.

He feels something soft and wet traveling on his burning butt cheek, feeling cool and soothing on his abused flesh. It takes a second for him to realize it’s Dick’s tongue. Jason’s body jumps at the realization and his heart thumps loudly in his chest. He calms down immediately when Dick has his arm on top of his torso, wrapping itself around his waist.

“Stay,” his predecessor stops only long enough to say, “let me take care of you, Jay.”

Jason buries his face in embarrassment and mutters under his breath, “O- okay.”

With that, Dick shifts their position. He lifts Jason’s hips just enough for himself to get out. Making sure that his successor is maintaining his kneeling position, Dick settles into position behind him. Jason groans a little but doesn’t complain, even shifting his own body to rest his head on his folded arms.

The tongue travels downwards, into the crack, towards his entrance. When it reaches the hole Jason gasps, but he stays still like he was told. The soft and wet object licks around his rim, being extremely gentle. It’s almost scary, so much so that Jason can’t help but sob into his arms.

Dick stops for a few seconds to replace his tongue with his lips, pressing them on the cheek in a loud kiss, parting slightly to reveal just the barest hint of teeth.

Jason whines some more and Dick chuckles. “That’s a good boy. You’ve taken the punishment so well, I think you deserve your reward. Don’t you agree?”

A playful jab of Dick’s finger at his rim makes Jason _ mewl,  _ and he can feel Dick’s lips curling up next to his buttocks.

“That’s right,” Dick says, “I’m so happy to see you come back so capable and looking so  _ attractive, _ Jason. Just stay still for me.”

His tongue is on him again. The wet object travels back-and-forth inside the crack, and the tingling sensation is making Jason’s fingers and toes flex and curl on instinct. Inaudible words of  _ daddy _ and  _ please _ keep pouring out of his mouth like water from a cracked pipe.

A lick at his rim makes Jason throw his head back and moan. Dick has both of his cheeks cupped in his hands and is gently squeezing them as his tongue probes at his entrance, and Jason’s breath catches when the tip suddenly enters him.

He stays still despite all that, remembering Dick’s words to him. Still, Jason buries his face into the sofa and sobs, face burning up from both the pleasure and the embarrassment.

The tongue only enters a little at first, but it’s so soft and flexible, and the barest bit of twirling and rolling feels so good that in no time Jason is already completely hard. Dick is taking his time, entering him little by little, and the anticipation is killing him.

“Ngh… daddy, please...” he whines, but Dick shushes him.

The tongue is going a little bit faster now. By now most of it must have entered him, but the object is so soft and slick that the stretch barely feels like anything at all. Jason’s body is still strained despite him trying to relax, and Dick’s hands eventually find their way to his back and thighs, massaging and relieving the strain of those muscles. His tongue leaves and slides across the skin of his scrotum and glides towards his erect penis. There, it lingers on his sack in small, playful circles for a few seconds before soft lips suddenly wrap around the base of his cock, that slick tongue sliding on his dick.

“Ngh! Daddy, I…!”

Lips and tongue slowly drift towards the head of the cock, and Jason couldn’t stop himself from writhing in Dick’s hold even if he tried. The pleasure overtakes him in waves of overwhelming electricity and he spasms with the soft touch of Dick’s mouth.

Dick hums in response and runs his palm across Jason’s back to calm him. His hands are both big and warm, and reassuring in ways that Bruce could never be, so Jason tries to relax again if only for Dick’s sake. Dick is too busy with his mouth for talking, but the way his tongue works on his cock is heavenly. Jason is a heaving and sobbing mess in no time, his cock rock hard and leaking.

Dick wraps his lips on the shaft and uses them to stroke the length again and again before he moves upwards. He licks Jason’s rim, the turbulent pleasure pierces Jason’s body and briefly overtakes him, stimulating him over the edge.

When Jason comes he has turned into somewhat of a sack on Dick’s sofa. Completely at his mercy and drowning in his predecessor’s aura, Jason has given up the control of his body, and he spasms violently as he simultaneously cries tears of pleasure into Dick’s sofa, the sounds of his sobs muffled by the fabric.

A hand gently pats him on the head as his seed spills forcefully into Dick’s hand, then the man starts to stroke his back lovingly. Jason pants and sobs, completely broken down from the session. He’s never felt so vulnerable.

And he likes the feeling.

“Good,” he hears Dick say from above, “that’s excellent, Little Wing. Never be afraid to reward yourself.”

Jason sobs some more and he may have nodded in response, but his head is too clouded for him to be certain.

Before he knows it Dick is already shifting his body to pick him off of the sofa. The feat is impressive, considering how much he’s grown since his dip in the pit. But despite his height and muscles, his predecessor manages it rather effortlessly. Then he shifts him again in his arms, making sure not to put pressure on his abused buttocks, Jason hissing a little in the process.

Jason hooks his muscled arms around Dick’s neck and sobs into his shoulder.

“Things have changed, Jay,” his predecessor says in that authoritative tone he always had, now with the slight rust of maturity, “but they don’t have to be for the worse.”

“Dick, I-”

“Let’s go to bed,” Dick answers with a chuckle, “and we can talk when we’re there.”


End file.
